Some hands hold memories. Others hold generations. The moment I looked at my hands after a simple henna afternoon, I realized mine held both.
A couple of weeks ago, Ellanean and I went out with Mabel and Betty for a lovely little girly afternoon at a local Canal Festival. Among the stalls, there was a mother-and-daughter team offering beautiful henna designs. Naturally, we couldn’t resist. Ellanean and I both had our hands adorned—different designs, both gorgeous. I was wearing all my rings, and the artists cleverly incorporated them into the patterns. Of course, my design had to include the Botanicals Fern—it felt like a quiet emblem of growth, resilience, and life passing from one hand to the next. Henna wound and swirled around the metal, almost telling a little story on my skin.
When I got home, I asked Ellanean to photograph my hands so I could keep the memory. But when she showed me the pictures, I was shocked. Those didn’t look like my hands. Not the henna—that part was beautiful—but the shape, the lines, the signs of age. I looked at my hands. Then back at the photo. And suddenly… I didn’t just see my hands. I saw my mum’s hands. And behind hers, I saw my grandmother’s hands. It was as if, through those photographs, three generations of very strong women were resting right there in my lap—each hand carrying its own story, each line echoing love, work, and legacy. I wonder if one day Ellanean will do the same as me, and we’ll see my hands, her mama’s hands, and even her great-grandmother’s hands reflected in her own. Perhaps she’ll choose the Botanicals Fern too, and that small symbol of growth will quietly connect all of us, weaving our lives together across time.
These are the same hands I’ve used every single day for 52 years. They’ve learned to write, held loved ones close, turned the pages of countless amazing books, cooked meals with love, and crafted the most beautiful floral work for decades. They cradled my baby girl the moment she was born. My hands have lived. And then today, driving along and thinking about how I wanted to share this with you, Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline came on the radio. The line “holding hands, touching hands” played—and I smiled. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
Three Things Close to My Heart
• My favourite picture of my mum—a soft charcoal and chalk portrait that captures her so beautifully.
• A stunning photograph of my grandmother in her younger years.
• And yes—the photograph of my hands. Wrinkles, lines, and all.
I’ll admit, at first I felt self-conscious about them. But now I realise these lines are proof of a lifetime of work, love, and creativity. They’ve allowed me to touch so many lives, and I’m proud of them. And perhaps the most precious thing of all—my almost-19-year-old daughter still holds my hand when we’re out. That is a gift beyond words.
So here’s my gentle reminder: never underestimate the power of your hands, or the love they can pass on. They carry your history, your work, your touch—and if you’re lucky, they’ll carry someone else’s hand too.
With love always, Cerus & The Botanicals Team